Till Death And Beyond (Witch World)

by Lyn C. Johanson

  Not every witch is evil, she countered.

  They’ll have to prove it before I’ll lift a finger.

  “Thank you,” she whispered for his ears alone and, pivoting in his arms, placed a kiss on his lips. “Those of you who’ll brave the world and find yourselves in mortal danger, all you need to do is call us. That’s the best I can offer.”

  “When exactly did I agree to this?” Raven wondered, still confused.

  “When you said you’d help the innocent.”

  “I said that?”

  “Not in those precise words, but yes,” she assured him.

  From hunting witches, to saving them—Raven mulled over the concept. At least one thing won’t ever change.

  Which is?

  “Life won’t ever get boring.” He cupped her face and kissed her mouth, trailing his tongue over her bottom lip. “Let’s go.”

  There was nothing they could do here. Those witches needed to make some very important decisions and he’d gathered they were only interrupting. Not to mention scaring half of them. Who knew whether a nervous, frightened witch could be trusted not to make rash moves? Another fight would definitely be counterproductive today.

  “Where?” she finally smiled. Raven intended to keep it on her face.

  “Don’t know. Don’t care. As long as we’re together.”

  * * *

  Deep in the Underworld, Dazlog was laughing as he never had before. He couldn’t believe his luck. Sure, he’d hoped everything would fall into place as he needed, but this… it was even better than anything he could have imagined.

  He’d gambled bigtime not going to Amira the moment she came back, but it had paid off. Tenfold. It may take him a hundred or so years longer, but … he smiled dreamily, listening to the words the wind brought him.

  Too many souls have screamed in pain

  Because you treated life as a game.

  Well from now on it all shall cease

  What you’ve sown you soon shall reap.

  Amira’s prophecy pulsed with a life of its own. She truly didn’t know what she had set into motion by the words so carelessly uttered. But he would be the one to make it come true. Finally, after fourteen thousand years, he could see hope. He could see a path taking him to his goal. And when he reached it, the whole earth would tremble.

  “Damn you!” he heard a fleeting sound of Nially’s voice. Cursing him as always.

  “You already did, more than once,” he replied, knowing that nothing, not even the princess, could spoil his mood. And luckily, in a short moment she would be contained in her own prison once again. Somewhere he wouldn’t be able to reach her. Not that he wanted to.

  “Why?” she asked, “after everything you’ve done to me…”

  Dazlog almost snorted. What was done was done—and besides, it wasn’t as if she hadn’t repaid him in spades. “You should never have touched the boy,” Dazlog told her, glad that she had. He gave a bound oath no harm should befall Raven after Amira pleaded for his life. And Dazlog kept his word. Always. So he gave the little push she needed to return to her own body.

  “Hate you!” the faint sound of her voice lingered long after she’d vanished completely.

  “Never would have guessed,” Dazlog spoke to the empty space, making himself more comfortable. Oh, she would try to come after him, of that Dazlog was certain, but right now he had other problems.

  A shadow of a smile played on his face—but not for long, not for long…

  Epilogue

  Raven was fighting for his life. His opponent—a good swordsman he should still be able to defeat on any day of the week—was actually deflecting each and every thrust with graceful ease. Worse still, the man was coming at Raven with blows he was struggling to block. Strike followed strike. Metal was scraping metal, as the force of the man’s assault drove Raven back … back…

  Fool, you’ll lose your head if this continues, he chastised himself, but his heart simply wasn’t in it today. He could barely concentrate. The ominous shadow following him since the morning couldn’t be ignored much longer.

  Blows continued to rain on him. Sparks were flying as their swords clanged loudly. Yet every time their blades met, instead of the metallic noise created by his own sword, Raven heard hundreds of weapons clashing against each other. The sound was ringing in his ears with a vengeance. Disoriented and partially deaf, he tried to shake the weakness, yet the haze descending over his eyes refused to dissipate.

  One moment his opponent was wearing a dark-blue shirt and black pants, and the next he appeared in nothing but torn, ugly-brown, barely hanging by the rope, trousers—the kind Raven had seen even beggars shun. Barefoot, a bit paler, with chest almost twice as large as a second ago and hair twice as long, he disengaged with a twist and came at Raven again.

  “And the student becomes the teacher,” Ciaran announced proudly a few seconds before going into the motion. His voice scattered the mist. Or was this a premonition? Sometimes, Raven still had trouble with his powers.

  “Not just quite yet,” Raven smiled, finally able to think clearly. He sidestepped and slammed his blade across Ciaran’s, forcing it to the side, low. The unexpected move made the man lose balance and without a moment’s hesitation Raven spun to the right. His body came so close, his elbow collided with Ciaran’s jaw and before he could recover, the steel of Raven’s blade was pressed length-wise against the skin of his throat.

  “That,” Ciaran rubbed his jaw, “actually hurt.”

  Raven merely shrugged, easing his hold and finally sheathing the sword. “You are still projecting. Especially when you think you are winning.” He doubted it would last much longer.

  Ciaran was a natural with a sword. Seven months ago he’d taken one into his hands for the first time in his life, and now each and every encounter they had was a challenge. Practice was just a word they used, because they both knew it was more than that.

  He needed these practices, needed someone against whom he could wield a sword without getting his hands bloody in the process. Especially when his fighting days were nowhere near over. And Ciaran just needed to be the strongest. It seemed arrogance was his constant companion. Although Raven made it his mission not to let it blow out of proportion, it wasn’t an easy task—strange visions in the middle of fighting or not.

  “I will so enjoy beating you the next time,” he promised. As he did after their every match.

  “I don’t believe you learned how to lose yet.”

  “You shouldn’t tease him so,” Natalie said. Finally, after a few months of observing him from afar, whenever he and Amira visited, she was not afraid to approach him. “Sometimes I fear this attitude will be his undoing. Thank the goddesses at least Logan came to his senses.”

  Ciaran just rolled his eyes heavenwards.

  “And I think he’s about to challenge you again,” she added.

  “Looking forward to it,” Raven bowed his head slightly, “Oh, and speaking of Logan, where is he?”

  “Guess,” Natalie gestured, which could only mean one thing. Nyssa.

  Lately those two were always together. Either it was here, in Trinton, or his own place, where Raven rarely set foot. So it was Logan who oversaw things down there, quickly growing into his responsibilities, especially now that Ciaran was not breathing down his shoulder. And that, Raven thought, made a difference.

  “Love,” Ciaran snorted, “makes time pass by, I guess.”

  Raven and Natalie turned to him, their brows raised in question.

  “And time makes love pass by,” he uttered, returning the look.

  “Rather poetic,” scoffed Raven. He avoided the challenging eyes and lifted his shirt from the grass. For Ciaran, everything was a challenge. Every word, every move. Sometimes it was easier to keep one’s mouth shut than try and convince him of something. Sometimes.

  “If not pathetic,” Natalie added.

  “Look who’s talking,” Ciaran shot back. “Galen looks at you with stray-puppy-dog eyes
and you automatically profess to be the expert on the subject?”

  Natalie smiled, “I am sure he will be thrilled to learn how his friend refers to him.” She straightened the line on her skirt, took the hem in her hands and turned, prepared to march back home. “Oh, and in case you were wondering,” she bit her grin, “looking was not all he did.”

  Ciaran froze for a second. Then after a moment, he launched himself from the spot like a mad man. “What—”

  “She was teasing you!” Raven stepped in front of Ciaran, blocking his way. “Just teasing,” he repeated the word, giving more weight to it, and finally saw comprehension light up Ciaran’s eyes.

  “You think I am stupid?” It wasn’t exactly a question, but it wasn’t a statement either.

  “Not stupid. Rash maybe.”

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “I was just wondering how I would have reacted if it was Evolyn.” It no longer hurt to talk about his family as it used to, but sometimes he couldn’t help but wonder how it might have been.

  It was strange the way life could change. The way a person could become someone he’d never imagined was possible. But, if he had learned anything, it was that anything was possible. Even the man who once tried to kill him could become his friend—a brother in the war they were waging. And while his true brother was off to see the world, searching for himself, Raven had found himself in the eyes of a witch. And he couldn’t be happier about it.

  In his heart he believed there would come a day when Dacian would accept him again. When he was ready. As for now, he was exploiting every moment life gave him, every opportunity, every second.

  If you are done playing… her soft voice reached him, filled him, warmed him.

  I could play some more.

  My thoughts exactly. He could feel her smiling.

  How are you feeling? He headed toward the front door, taking two steps at a time, trying to reduce the distance between them as quickly as possible.

  He may have been able to use magic, but he preferred to use his legs, just as he did his sword instead of energy balls. He resorted to using his powers only when it was necessary. Amusingly enough, the dozens of steps to the bedroom they shared when visiting her family, the few doors and the vast number of protective males, were not obstacles he deemed huge enough to warrant it. Though he had to admit, her father was somewhat of a pain in the ass. Almost qualifying as one. Especially in the beginning.

  If not for Eliana diffusing volatile situations, they would’ve come to blows. Luckily, the fact that Amira was happy had finally registered in her father’s head. And once Deron realized Raven would walk through fire for her, married or not, the fact that they were not and could never be didn’t bother him anymore. Much.

  Sometimes, it bothered Raven though—not being able to claim her as a wife. He would have loved to ask for her hand in marriage, except with Venlordians on the throne, they would sooner see them dead than married.

  Amira always reminded him that they were bonded for eternity. No words spoken by some murderous knave could ever be as powerful. And she was right. They were soulmates. Still, he lived in hope that one day the situation would change—he was working on it.

  The journey ahead was a long one, but he was on the right path. Even if it was paved with frustration and worry at seeing Amira rush into the fray of the battle in her delicate condition.

  You worry too much, she reminded him. I am more than capable, even in my seventh month.

  She was more powerful than ever, not to mention more pigheaded. It didn’t mean he’d leave her side for a single moment. No matter how much she glowered at him—he was not about to let danger come close to her, or the little hoyden he imagined would be born in just a few months. He couldn’t wait to become a father. Raven reached for the doorknob, suddenly feeling sick. A sharp pain sliced through him, causing the earth to sway under his feet. His hand tightened around the knob, but his legs failed to support him and he doubled over.

  “What’s wrong?” Ciaran ran to him, offering his hand.

  “Amira,” he uttered, finding strength to straighten up and disappear in front of Ciaran’s eyes. To reach her in a split second.

  * * *

  Eighteen hours had passed since he’d found Amira lying on the floor with her hands on her abdomen, wincing from pain. Now, she was in labor. Two months early.

  Everything was wrong, just wrong. And he couldn’t do a thing. Moreover, he was forced to wait outside along with all the other males, while she was suffering.

  Raven was going crazy. The pain his angel suffered was inside him—a living being tearing him apart every few minutes. He felt like he was the one giving birth. Only he wasn’t. He was wearing out the carpet in the adjacent room while he longed to be with her. The unknown was killing him.

  What was taking so bloody long?

  Raven … only the dim semblance of her once adorably determined and strong voice echoed in his head. Was it fear he sensed? Hers? He couldn’t stand the thought.

  I am coming, Angel. He tried to comfort her, his legs already eating away the distance. Her father tried to stop him though, “I know how you feel, but—”

  Raven pushed him aside, not listening to what Deron had to say. Not caring. He only knew she needed him. And he was coming. The moment he entered the room, Raven realized the reason she was calling. There was something—someone—else in there.

  Ignoring the women, he closed his eyes, concentrated the way she’d taught him, and slowly swiveled around, searching. Finding. He stopped and looked directly at the wall opposite the bed Amira was lying in, still moaning from pain. He almost let out a groan of his own.

  “Reveal yourself,” Raven commanded the intruder who was threatening his woman and child with his mere presence.

  A moment later, a man appeared leaning against the said wall. Grinning. His arms were wrapped across his broad chest, body relaxed—but the green eyes watching them were too intense, the gaze too sharp, belying the ease in his pose. Raven’s lips tightened into a frown.

  Someone gasped behind him. He paid no heed, but strode toward the unbidden guest, pinning him to the wall. “Leave,” he barked, blocking the view of Amira and … his child. His heart leaped with joy at the sound of a cry.

  “It’s a boy,” Milla announced. His gaze remained on the intruder, though it tore him to pieces to hear the baby cry and not be able to look at him, to take him into his arms. He had to get rid of this creature, and soon, because despite his appearance, there was no way he could be a human being. That much Raven knew.

  “Others won’t take that long,” the creature informed them.

  Every nerve in Raven’s body prickled at the sound of that voice. He knew who this male was. And a sick feeling settled in his gut. Someone wasn’t going to leave this room alive…

  “Others?” A curious question broke his line of thought.

  “Well of course—three Immortals to change the world. For better or worse,” Dazlog smirked. Raven narrowed his eyes. He didn’t give a damn if there were three or thirty of them, as long as they were safe. And the dreadful undercurrents in this man’s tone were not at all to his liking.

  Raven seized him by his throat with every intention of throwing him out. He merely laughed back, “My, my, such a temper.”

  There came another cry. Another baby was born. Raven resisted the urge to turn around—barely. His eyes remained on the intruder, refusing to let him out of his sight as if he knew something horrible would happen the moment he did.

  He grabbed Dazlog’s arm and twisted it behind his back, kicking him out of the room. “Get the hell out of here!”

  Dazlog jumped straight at Raven’s face, his emerald eyes exuding violence. Flames rose, surrounded them—their fiery tongues licked his flesh. Just as quickly as the fire ignited, it simmered down.

  “You don’t want to anger me, human,” the demon threatened as he straightened his crinkled black shirt, his moves calm and precise, as if momen
ts before the surroundings hadn’t been set on fire by his fury. Just then another cry echoed, “Ah, finally. The full set.” The male disappeared.

  Raven swore. He knew the room was full of people now. Deron, Regan, Pharell, even old Giles, all prepared to fight. Ciaran with the sword already unsheathed. None of it gave him comfort, though. The being was more powerful than … he swallowed the last thought and instantly followed after him.

  “How nice of you to show up,” the demon teased, evidently undisturbed by all the protective males surrounding the bed.

  Raven glanced at Amira, who seemed exhausted. Her breaths were shallow, her damp hair clinging around her dismayed expression. But what bothered him most was the trembling hands in which she held one of their babies, and the panic in her eyes.

  “My payment,” the intruder demanded, suddenly serious. All smiles and teasing forgotten. “We made a deal. His life for the magic. And don’t make me wait.”

  “I can give you everything I have,” Amira whispered under her breath, raising her head from the pillow. “But you never wanted my power, did you?” She paused, rocking their son in her arms and gathering her own strength, added, “Nially’s power was never mine to hold and you knew it. Should have come sooner…” The essence would have left her no matter what she did.

  “Oh, but I beg to differ.” Dazlog approached the bed, ignoring the unsheathed weapons being pointed at him. He brushed his hand through the air, and the human wall separated, letting him pass through.

  He sat on the bed near Amira, and Raven gnashed his teeth. Every cell of his being wanted to attack, to drag Dazlog away from his angel. He clenched his fists, reminding himself he had to stay smart. Brute strength won’t be enough to defeat the demon.

  “The power I want is still here. Divided among three, but here,” the demon said as he trailed his eyes from one baby to the next, and the sick feeling Raven had felt before turned into true horror. “Such imbalance,” Dazlog tsked.